


Proof Of My Life

by the_angst_alchemist



Series: Red Snow [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil dies, Cecil is Human, Each paragraph corresponds to a line in the song, Ghosts, Lung Cancer, M/M, Pov swap of Soundless voice, Sherlock references i think, Snow in Night Vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_angst_alchemist/pseuds/the_angst_alchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil's known he was dying for a long time. It just matters if he and Carlos can at least fall in love first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof Of My Life

Cecil’s voice was silenced from a long time ago, but he didn’t mind one bit, since it meant that the greatest thing that could happen to him happened. He hadn’t asked to get lung cancer. He hadn’t even known where it came from, nor how to even help himself to fight it off, but Carlos’s hand had led him through all of his pain, and that was what mattered. The winter was cold, colder than a usual Night Vale winter, and he shivered in the cold as he watched the outdoors, the firm refusal of the sky to let loose a flurry of snow to bring beauty to the cold.   
To have Carlos beside him fixed all of his worries, yet he found himself leaning more and more on Carlos and relying less and less on himself. His whiteboard had been a Christmas gift, an attempt to at least help with the hoarseness that Cecil hadn’t been able to stop from getting worse. Even as his voice withered away like the wildlife around him in the cold, he still tried his best to speak, to even hear his voice, to remind himself that he was not soundless. It was impossible to speak, to even breathe some days, yet he still plodded onwards through the days.   
December was easy once Carlos came. He only came once Cecil had nearly coughed his throat to smithereens on air, and been unable to even bring the show to the weather. Carlos had come immediately once the intern (Intern Penny, to whom Cecil was very grateful, since she had been taking over the show for a while after he had left) had taken the show to the weather for him. Carlos had hardly left Cecil’s side since, being the guardian and almost boyfriend Cecil had always wanted for him be. He hadn’t ever left his side, being exactly where Cecil thought he should be, within distance of laying his head on Carlos’s shoulder.   
Carlos had never told him not to do just that. So he had continued to lay his head on Carlos’s shoulder, looking up at him, falling in love even more with every moment by his side, but never able to say “I love you” to assure Carlos that was how he felt. Cecil worried his heart was growing as cold as the air around him and the air that rarely entered his broken lungs.   
Every bit of the life Cecil had grown to love was gone; missing; vanished. He couldn’t broadcast, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even stand on his own for more than a minute. All because of one stupid illness. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be in pain. He looked at Carlos beside him, and only curled up tighter beside him, turning up the Doctor Who on the television to distract himself from how this was only a friend, nothing more, and he didn’t even have time for it to be anything more.   
He just wanted to make it to one more birthday, one more spring, one more anniversary of Carlos coming to Night Vale. Each milestone seemed years away instead of months. As the days crept closer, he found one thing to be unsurprising. Each day he had let slip him by before felt like a day shaved off of a countdown he hadn’t known existed until then.   
Carlos had always talked about the world outside of Night Vale. About how sometimes it rained flakes of ice which were gentle and white, and everyone called it snow. About how sometimes, there were miracles, and even in places like Night Vale, perhaps it could happen one day, if it was the right conditions. Cecil had always listened, smiling and understanding none of it but enjoying the conversations.   
He couldn’t grow any more, he realized. Every movement became a strain with the passing days, the days turning from talking and listening to more Doctor Who and eventually Sherlock and musicals as well, Carlos’s soothing voice humming along to some of the songs, though he’d never admit that he knew “There! Right There!” from Legally Blonde by heart. Cecil had only found it endearing, and rested an arm around his friend.   
Why, oh why, couldn’t they be more than friends? He wanted to hold Carlos’s hand, to kiss him on the cheek, to love him like he was so excited to even a year and a half ago, when they had first met each other. Yet throughout that year, nothing had changed, Carlos had never said a word to confirm the feelings being mutual, and Cecil hadn’t bothered to push it as anything beyond a “platonic cuddling and tv watching” relationship, especially since it would only hurt Carlos more if his boyfriend died instead of just a friend.   
If he could, he would only remain strong for as long as possible. He wanted to remain alive, to remain smiling, to not show his pain. For Carlos. For the town. They knew what was happening to his voice, and if the Voice without a voice could remain positive, it would be a story that would be remembered. Perhaps Janice could call him an inspiration. That was all he wanted to be to her, if he had to die before she was even in high school. An inspiration, a positive memory.   
But even more than that, he wanted to stay alive. To continue breathing. If he could achieve that for long enough, it would be more than enough. It would be enough to have time, to be able to tell Carlos he still cared and never would stop caring for him in the way he did, even if Carlos didn't love him in that way. He only wanted to tell Carlos how wonderful he looked, how perfect he was in every right, how amazing it was that he had decided to take the time to help a sick man to live.   
He wanted to breathe for long enough. Long enough for what, he didn't know, but he presumed it was long enough to be remembered. Long enough that Carlos wouldn't forget him. Or Janice. Or anyone, really. He wanted to be remembered.   
He wanted proof of his life. Whatever that proof was, he wasn't sure. It had to be something that would be remembered. Perhaps just memories were fine, he decided.   
But above all, he knew one thing: His goal wasn't to bring others down. It wasn't to show how he was in pain. It wasn't to get Carlos to be his boyfriend, though he thought about it. It was to bring others up, to ignore his pain even if it hurt, and to be with Carlos as a friend. Even if it hurt more than the chronic pain or the coughs that always plagued him, searing his lungs and dyeing his shirt’s elbows crimson each time, he would let Carlos be Carlos.   
He tried to speak so many times, to write those three words on his whiteboard and pass it to Carlos, but instead he always froze up, and launched into a coughing fit out of nerves, or erased it before he could see. Carlos had only half focused on the movies as the days grew on, glancing more at Cecil's board. It grew harder and harder to keep his thoughts secret, even if he was nearly silent.   
He only wanted to stay by Carlos's side and smile. Carlos's laugh was like music, and whenever they reached one of Carlos's favorite scene (the ones he could quote by heart) Cecil would watch him instead for his eyes shining with excitement and joy, the way he leaned forward slightly in his interest. Cecil just enjoyed how even though he couldn't even speak to say a word, it was still so… close. Intimate.   
How funny that the intimacy was only due to death. He only wanted to be next to Carlos, talking like normal, telling him stories just as Carlos did for him, as a pair of boyfriends. A pair of happily dating boyfriends. His smile stretched out slightly further at the thought of being beside Carlos as a boyfriend, finally able to kiss him on the cheek and tell him how much he truly meant to Cecil. Just one time, while they were still alive together. That was all he wanted.   
Cecil found the seasons passing by as the pair of them simply laid together on that couch, Carlos only leaving sometimes for work (science! Cecil didn’t want to ruin that relationship, to see his friend upset because of being torn away from science would’ve been worse than death) and to get food. They almost felt like a couple. 

They were not a couple. Cecil knew he wished that they were, and some days he even daydreamed about being able to fall in love truly with Carlos and to tell him at last how much he meant. But never, ever, ever could he say it, say how he loved Carlos and only wanted to kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

Every moment he rested by Carlos’s side, hardly able to breathe even without the added issue of the scent of Carlos’s shampoo (lavender scented and beautiful as always) was a moment he couldn’t ever use to tell Carlos the truth. Eventually he would run out of moments. Both of them knew, but neither of them wanted to say that they knew the truth.

At least, he told himself, they would be together in the end. The thought of dying without a person by his side was even more terrifying than the thought of dying in the first place. Carlos had to be there. Cecil wouldn’t mind the thought of dying--After all, how long had he lived? He wasn’t sure anymore, but it was a long, long time, and he had lost track of the years. Eventually everything did have to come to an end. And it just so happened that his end was sooner than Carlos’s.

What was that phrase that he had read once? “Ya’aburee.”  _ You bury me, so I don’t have to bury you. _ How fitting, especially since it was a word used between a pair of lovers. How he could ever voice it to Carlos, he didn’t know, especially since it was such a complicated feeling and with the little voice he had left, it would be beyond impossible.

Carlos’s voice cut into Cecil’s thoughts as they sat together, silently, the television playing a movie Cecil could no longer focus on. “A.. are you alright, Cecil?” His voice was wavering, as if he was in pain himself. Cecil gave him a smile and a thumbs up.

_ I’m as alright as you are, Carlos. _

Carlos looked at Cecil silently, and wrapped one arm around him, gently, returning to the movie. Carlos’s eyes were wet, Cecil noticed. He turned to the television, forcing himself to focus on the screen for a second. It wasn’t a sad scene, not by any stretch of the imagination. So why, why, why was Carlos…? Cecil took a deep breath. “C...Carlos?” he stammered, his voice unused and hoarse still. Carlos jumped, and turned.

“A-ah, Cecil.” He seemed so surprised to hear Cecil speak. Cecil rested a hand on Carlos’s farther shoulder, and looked at him with the most concerned look he could find in his heart.

“Are you alright, Carlos?” he asked, then deteriorated into coughing. Carlos’s grip on his shoulder tightened, nervously, until the coughing had stopped. Then, just as Cecil had, he smiled.

“I’m a scientist. Cecil…. A scientist is… Usually fine.”  _ Usually,  _ Cecil repeated to himself. Carlos looked down, as if he had something on his mind, but he did not say it aloud. Cecil didn’t bother to press. The television suddenly seemed more interesting, but Cecil still looked at Carlos and his beautiful hair, his beautiful jawline, his beautiful everything. He raised a hand to Carlos’s face, and wiped away the tears that Carlos refused to cry.

“...I--” Cecil coughed, trying to breathe, and brought up the white board instead, writing one word at a time on it: ‘I’ll be here for the rare times that you aren’t, Carlos.’ Carlos leaned on Cecil slightly for a change, and buried his face in Cecil’s shoulder. Cecil didn’t mind the tears that fell, and wrapped his arms around Carlos. ‘I’m sorry,’ he wrote, and placed it on Carlos’s lap so that he could read it when he was ready.

“It’s not your fault, Cecil. None of this is your fault,” Carlos’s voice managed to say, muffled by the fabric of Cecil’s shirt, a simple thing he had thrown on that morning before stumbling out of his room to find a note from Carlos (just an average ‘Off to work, don’t watch too much Mythbusters without me, okay?’ sort of message.) Cecil didn’t reply, and instead only held Carlos tighter.

Carlos didn’t react for a long time, and he only let the television play. Finally, he broke the silence. “Are you… afraid of the future, Cecil? Of what’s… going to happen to you?” Cecil paused for a long moment, and eventually shook his head. Oddly enough, he wasn’t afraid at all. Carlos took a deep breath in through his nose, creating a long drawn out sniffling sound that was nowhere near as professional as he looked. Carlos looked Cecil right in the eyes.

“I’m afraid for you,” he finally said. “I’m afraid that it’ll happen too soon.”  _ Too soon for me to tell you the truth, for sure. But that’s because I’ll wait to see if you feel the same too. I won’t press you too far, Carlos.  _ “I’m afraid that you’ll be gone before I can even… even say… goodbye.” Carlos’s words were broken, and he looked away. “The last years have meant a lot to me, you know? Being… being with you.   
“I don’t want to go back to being alone like before, Cecil,” Carlos admitted. His eyes were still damp, and Cecil brushed away his tears once again. Carlos looked away, swallowing down the knot that had probably formed in his throat.

Carlos finally said what he was thinking after a long time of waiting between them: “Please. Just… I know it’s selfish, Cecil, but for me… Hold on?” Cecil’s smile softened slightly, and he rubbed Carlos’s back, writing on the board with his left hand after taking it back from Carlos. Finally, he left a single message there for him to read. ‘I’ll do my best.’

 

The months only stretched on longer, bringing them from that beautiful day to a day months later, just before Christmas to the outside world. There were no gifts to exchange, but there were words to exchange. They were not exchanged. They were kept silent, written and erased and torn up in order to be kept secret instead of saying them aloud, breaking Cecil’s heart with a rejection that felt like it was certain to happen. Carlos’s words remained in Cecil’s mind throughout all of it.  _ “I’m afraid for you.”  _ It felt like the closest he would ever get to the “I love you” he wanted to hear so badly. Yet throughout the months of waiting, longing, hoping for any sort of confirmation that his feeling were reciprocated, there was no indication of any sort that they were. Cecil refused to give up nonetheless. He continued to listen and relax by Carlos’s side, allowing his opinions to be heard even when Cecil wasn’t in the mood to listen or talk or even exist. He tried to reply, but Carlos only shushed him, saying he should rest his voice or it would never get better. Cecil managed to bite back a retort of “But will it get better if I do keep quiet,” but it was only barely. _  
_ Carlos's words of happiness grew fewer, and his smiles grew further in between compared to the frequent laughs and grins he had once had for Cecil. Cecil only worried for what Carlos would do once he was gone, not about how it would feel to be gone.  _ At least I'll be back for Homecoming each year. _

Cecil glanced at Carlos yet again, running his hand through his perfect dark hair. It hadn't been cut in long enough. Maybe someday. But it looked beautiful as it was. Cecil only wished it could be coupled with a smile to show those perfect teeth, to brighten Carlos's eyes from the dark chocolate brown to a happier view. He hadn't been happy in so long.

Cecil wanted to change that. To fix how he was tearing Carlos down. But how could he? It was so hard to help when he couldn't even say kind words for Carlos to hear. Impossible, even. He couldn't help, he couldn't save the man he loved from the pain… The pain  _ he  _ had caused.  _ I'm so sorry, Carlos. _

Another winter came to settle in around them, bringing with it worse conditions than Cecil remembered and a harsh chill. Carlos had always told tales of snow, of the tiny white flakes falling around them, of being able to go outside and play in the frozen water and build snowmen and little snow dens and such.

He hadn't expected to see any, yet there is was. For the first time he remembered, there was snow in Night Vale. It was just as beautiful as Carlos had said it was, he noticed, watching the flakes dance around before his eyes, as if doing a waltz with all of the wind and other flakes. 

He turned to Carlos, who was sitting on the couch behind him, watching both the flakes and Cecil. Cecil cleared his throat, and instead fell into another cough.

He pulled out the white board, and scribbled onto it a few words. “Can we go outside?”

Carlos paused, and glanced outside and at Cecil before finally,  _ finally,  _ he nodded and approached Cecil, helping him to his feet. Carlos helped get his shoes and coat on, since he already had his own “winter” lab coat and red converses on beforehand.

The pair exited the house side-by-side, silent in the falling snow. No noise reached Cecil's ears except for the crunch of snow like brittle leaves from the Whispering Forest. The wind chilled his ears and face, and he held tighter to Carlos for the warmth before he tried to speak out of hope, trying to smile.

"What does my voice sound like? Any better?" He asked. His voice was hoarse, Cecil noted, and it sounded worse than ever if anything. Carlos shook his head, but did not say a word. Cecil strained to breathe, and he leaned further on Carlos as they continued through the wintery wonderland that was once Night Vale.

If Cecil had been alone, it would have felt so much colder than it was. But as it was, he was warm enough just by Carlos's company. He looked around at the world, holding onto Carlos just to be able to stand and walk by his side. It was hard to admit that he could barely speak, barely walk, barely even  _ live  _ without aid by then, so he refused to.

_ Just to feel Carlos's presence by his side was enough _ , he told himself. It wasn't. A coughing fit, worse than any other he recalled, came over him, and he fell to his hands and knees. He grabbed Carlos's arm in an attempt to return upright, pulling him down slightly, and Carlos turned, shocked. Cecil continued coughing, merely trying to stop from focusing on the blood.

Finally he collapsed, hardly breathing, if at all. He couldn't even find the strength to shut his eyes, and hardly even noticed his heartbeat stopping.  _ How odd _ , Cecil thought.  _ I thought death was less calm than this. _ He found himself  drifting, but Carlos didn't even seem to notice.

"Cecil. Cecil, are you okay? A-are you in pain? Can you at least speak?" Carlos asked, trying to do  _ anything _ to help. "D-don't die on me, please..."

Cecil tried to hug Carlos,but his arms only passed through. “Please. Please, Carlos. I'm alright.” His voice had returned, perhaps because the lung that were broken had died with him, but he didn't have time to notice. “I'm right here for you. I hope you understand. It's for the best. I promise, we'll meet again. Please, don't cry…” Cecil could feel his eyes watering as well, and he forced away the tears, trying to focus on Carlos.

"C-can you please... Please, Ceec... Can you just say anything.... Even my name, just anything at all...." Carlos begged. Cecil reached out a hand, trying to reassure Carlos, trying to do  _ anything  _ to ease the pain. It did nothing. Carlos searched the nearby area, his eyes skipping right past the ghost that was right beside him, begging him to listen.

“Please, Carlos, I'm right here. I'm dead, yes, but you don't need to die too! Night Vale’s already lost someone today! You're what Night Vale  _ needs,  _ Carlos– And I need for you to stay alive without me, to make sure that the town goes on and that  _ you _ go on.

“I know. It might be hard. But we need to go on, in our own directions. It may be hard, and we may not know where our directions are leading us. But it'll intersect again, I promise. Homecoming is always an option. I'll be around as long as I can, just  _ please _ , you won't even return at homecoming, I need for you to be okay…

_ “I love you _ , far too much to let you stay out here in the cold and get… uh… Cold stroke? Is that the opposite of heat stroke? You never told me, Carlos, and I would love to hear. Please. Just talk to me.”

The pair sat in silence for what could have minutes, hours, or days. Cecil had no way to tell the time: the watch on his ethereal wrist had stopped at 11:41, his time of death. They didn't exchange words, though Cecil hoped with all of his heart that Carlos would say something,  anything. Finally, Carlos stood. He stumbled slightly before he leaned down, trying to pick up the body.

Too heavy. Carlos fell to the ground again, gazing up at the sky as if praying to his own unsmiling god for something that Cecil couldn't identify. Cecil rested a hand on Carlos's back to attempt to comfort him. No response. _  
_ Carlos finally took a deep breath, and looked down at the shape before him, saying something he had never said before. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cecil replied. But Carlos was gone before he could hear. Cecil watched where he thought Carlos had gone to, and tried to smile before saying one last thing.

“Thank you for my life.” With that phrase, the spirit of Cecil Palmer finally faded away.


End file.
